


Wake Up

by TheManSings



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:23:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManSings/pseuds/TheManSings





	Wake Up

_**Hey everyone. I know it’s been a longtime since i’ve posted anything. This is super short and not much more than me trying to work through the process of trying to wake up again. Thanks for sticking around.** _

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“Get up.”

The tv droned on wrapping around his head in endless loops of cheap laughter. Shit comedy, the irony of it all made him so mad. He hated him, he really did. 

Ian turned his eyes up toward the sound of Mickey’s voice just enough to accentuate the sunken circles punched into the skin around them. A living zombie. Their life was an oxymoron.

“I just lay down.”

“No.” Mickey reached down all intent to rip the blanket away from his frame and only managing a soft placed hand too intimate for the rage. “You’ve been laying here for three days!” His fingers twitched trying to dig great gashes into his skin. They came out resembling reassuring affections of love lost to a touch instead. “Your work called I told them you fucking died.”

“What did they say?”

Mickey’s mouth popped open in a dumbfounded little ‘o’ of astonishment. “They send their condolences.”

Someone laughed on the tv, but it wasn’t  _real_  laugher. Only a track echoing at them. Such a fucking shame.

Ian’s eyes blinked slow looking heavy and too much for the man to hold open. A pack of cigarettes half smoked and forgotten sitting on the table. He’d gone through the manic phase of deciding to intake the smoke in means of hurrying along the process to quiet his head and straight to the take home vhs of oblivion.

“Where were you?”

Mickey straightened his back hitting a calf against the table leg. “Out getting you something to eat.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

_Laugh track laugh track laugh track—_

He pulled the remote out from under Ian’s leg chucking it directly into the screen.

Nothing happened.

“You think you’re gonna be up for going to work tonight?”

The blanket bunched and stretched breathing on its own accord. Hoping maybe just maybe to be let free from the burden it housed. “I thought you said I was dead.”

“Yea well unfortunately I lied.”

Mickey squatted down to bounce on his knees. The misbalance in their floorboards rocking him side to side and suddenly the ridiculous thought of getting seasick just living in this place scared the shit out of him. And maybe all this rocking had only added to Ian’s head sloshing around slamming between walls of clarity to seeing the monsters climb out from under the bed machine gun ready.

“Hey Mick?” Something cleared harshly in his throat. “What are you thinking about right now?”

He laughed. “How much I don’t want to talk to your manager tonight.” A small smile flickered against the corner of Ian’s mouth but was rehearsed. Muscle memory. “Why what are you thinking about?”

A dog barked somewhere in the building. They weren’t allowed to have pets.

“I think we’re an over medicated nation.” His teeth clattering on each word nearly physically chewing and spitting them out. “Have you ever met someone who didn’t have some sort of problem? Addict, depressed fucking poor or too scared to even leave their house and get on public transportation?” It was a rhetorical question. “Maybe the thing is that we’re all so messed up that everything we’re trying to fix is exactly how we’re supposed to be. You ever wonder that?”

The room swayed again tempting Mickey to topple over too. It seemed so nice and easy, sideways looking at everything in misconstrued certainty. Don’t mind the cat walking on its hind legs, you’re looking upside down. Everything is normal down the rabbit hole.

“Sometimes I half think that—“ Ian started again, turning further out to meet his stare. “But mostly I think that if being messed up is a baseline for everyone then maybe there are certain people on top of that just wired different entirely.”

His hands came down to rest on the couch centimeters away from Ian’s face. Partially to be closer, mostly to catch his balance as each toe gave way in an unforgiving topple.

A cell phone started going off, not his. It was Ian’s boss, right on schedule.

Mickey chewed over his lip. “How’s your head feeling?”

Ian looked thoughtfully before swallowing down the strangled sound of maniacal laughter. “It feels like I’ve lost my mind.”

_Ring—ring—ring—_

“Yea.” His pushed up flexing his legs feeling the blood rush back to each appendage. “That’s the trouble with having one.”

 _Ring—ring—ring—_ He was fired by now. Mickey was sure of it, Ian was too, probably.

“Hey Mick? What time is it?”

He squinted looking out toward the window. The city continuing to move and live and die and go on in spite of them. Life was the biggest ‘fuck you’ party around. The most important RSVP.

“It’s time to wake up.”


End file.
